Misdemeanours
by lilyofthedarkvalley
Summary: Trouble making and early morning Quidditch is often a recipe for success. Next Generation. Rated T.


"Dominique? What are you doing here?"

Hamish Wood rolled over in shock, focusing blearily on the blonde haired girl sitting on the end of his bed. He looked down at himself and violently pulled the bedclothes up, nearly tipping Dominique off his bed. Like most boys, he slept topless. She giggled softly.

'Come down to the common room?" she whispered, looking around at his roommates, including her cousin James, who was snoring loudly. Dominique's eyes lit up with malice: so he did snore? Hamish gathered from her expression that James wasn't going to live this down. He grabbed his wand and a shirt from his open drawer and followed her down the stairs. It was silent apart from the fire crackling softly in the grate.

"Dom, what time is it?" he asked, looking around.

"Half past three, I think." she said innocently, looking up at him. He strode over to the dark red sofa Dominique was perched on, noticing her odd assortment of pajamas. She seemed to be wearing a man's pair of striped pajama bottoms and a white vest. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and watching his expression closely, she coughed.

"Not everyone's Dad plays for England, mate." she said sharply. "Pajamas can be handed down." Hamish blushed.

"Why are we down here?" he asked, hurriedly, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh we aren't staying!" she laughed, surprised. "I just thought you might want some time to get dressed."

He looked down at his bare chest. His shirt was still balled up in his hand. That was the problem with being best friends with Dom; you couldn't make any mistakes around her. She was the sharpest person he knew, and the cruelest. He quickly put the blue collared shirt on over his soft grey tracksuit bottoms.

"Alright, where are we going then?" he asked, after he had become decent. She unfolded her legs and got up. She gracefully sauntered over to the portrait hole and winked:

"To play Quidditch. Come on!" She vanished out into the dark corridor. Hamish dithered for a moment before sighing loudly and following her out.

He caught up with her halfway down the corridor to the Great Hall.

"Are you out of your mind?" he hissed, looking around fearfully, expecting Filch to jump around the corner at any moment.

She gave him a patronizing look and rolled her eyes.

"Do you actually think we'd get caught? My uncle is _George Weasley. _Honestly, I know this castle better than The Marauders. Let's go." She grabbed his hand and pulled him through quickly moving corridors, passages and dark spaces. Finally, he felt the morning air on his face and he looked around. They were standing right outside the broom shed.

The cool Scottish air was moist and sweet, and the sun was peeking its fiery head over the horizon sending rays of early summer sunshine, warming him. Dominique fitted in perfectly with this flawless image, her slim figure bending over the broom shed lock, muttering spells and poking the lock with her wand. She absentmindedly pulled her thick hair over one shoulder, exposing a pale neck. Hamish shoved his hands in his pocket, then running them through his hair and turned away.

"Got it." Dom said, and shot a comical glance at Hamish. She beckoned and they fished out their brooms from the shed- him on the newest Oakshaft 450, her on an old Nimbus. They kicked off, flying to the pitch and tossing a Quaffle around, then playing a game of "Follow the Sparks" and finally practicing their game tactics. Howling with laughter, Hamish watched as Dominique imitated her cousin flying the Wronski Feint. She looked at him with a "thick" expression on her face and then dived vertically before pulling up. However, her robe caught the candelabra that Hamish had conjured during "Follow the Sparks" and she tumbled to the ground.

"Dominique!" Hamish gasped and flew down, jumping off his broom from two feet. He ran to her and leant over her still form. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily.

"Dominique? Are you alright?" he asked, his voice quavering. He was scared.

Her eyes flashed open, the famous Weasley brown, and she laughed.

"Got you there!" she giggled with glee. Hamish frowned.

"You were…faking?"

She nodded and laughed again. He frowned and poked her in the ribs and she smacked him upside the head. He went to laugh but Hamish suddenly realized how close they were slowly flushed a deep pink. Dominique's smile faded and she shuffled a little under the cage of his body. He went to leap back but she grabbed his arm.

And kissed him.

Dominique Weasley was kissing him.

Holy Merlin's Wednesday pair of pants.

Fireworks exploded in his brain before he found he was kissing her back and they were rolling around the floor and:

"Oh _Hamish_? What are you doing down there with my cousin?" Hamish groaned as he recognized James's simpering voice.

There were titters and he could hear Fred Weasley muffling his merriment.

Hamish rolled over and sat up. The whole of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were stood, dressed for practice, laughing at them. Dominique sat up beside him.

"Aww, ickle Jamsie is jealous!" she mocked and turned to Hamish and kissed him again. Hamish knew for certain his life would be not worth living after this. But that, ot be quite honest, wasn't the point.


End file.
